by Marc Mulero
Lito nodded to himself, dropping his eyes to reflect deeply. Face long and stern, blackish green hair saturated with soot and sweat, he could hear his heartbeat ticking in his head like a clock counting down. That’s when he knew there was no other choice.
“Call them in.”
Brower’s face cringed with fear. “Lito… they’re civilians. Women and children, and men that have never seen combat…”
“Don’t you see, hermano? The Hiezers have changed. They’re less calculated, more reckless. Soon it will all be gone. They’ll wipe this continent clean,” he stepped into the giant’s personal space, “but they can’t get our people if they’re in there.” He pointed to the fortress. “I know what needs to be done because I’ve lived this. Call them in.”
Brower shook his head. “I… I’m sorry. I can’t do it, commander.”
Oscin heard death’s drum closing in on him. The only warriors left were pressed onto a wall, just waiting to be surrounded, just waiting for it to end. His vision darkened and narrowed like he was seeing through a small set of binoculars. The only thing he could do was stare at Brower despairingly, in selfish hope that he would heed Lito’s call. His mouth opened to stop his teeth from clattering, to speak, but no words came out. Every part of this battle was far over his head.
“Our flame is dimming, hermano. And what then? What will our people do when we’re gone? Remember us as warriors while they’re still in chains? No.” Lito punched Brower’s chest encouragingly. “If we charge the fortress with everything we’ve got, we can change everything for Bulchevin and the Sins. We can remember this day as a victory.” He shook his comrade’s shoulders and whispered, “Call them in.”
Brower was unmoved, conflicted. How could he subject the people of Bulchevin to war? Every second that passed creased another wrinkle of distress. Then he thought back to the long days leading up to now: whether a barrel of water would be rolled in from the black market to stall death another week for his young, whether their burrowed homes would cave in from dried cracks, whether this would be the night the Hiezers found them out… it was only then that the answer became clear. He lifted his radio to his mouth, eyeing Lito with renewed ferocity.
“Everyone, this is Brower, broadcasting with Senation’s finest beside me. A true leader in our darkest times. You all saw the jet fly in. It was him… Commander Lito!” he shouted. “He comes holding our Bulchevin banner, a native to our home, and he demands that we roar!
“I repeat, this is Brower, and I’m calling on all of you, everyone, to storm the fortress now. No faltering, no fear. Do not hold back, good family, the lives of your children depend on it. Your future depends on it! Rally behind us! Storm!”
There was a long moment of stillness. An unspoken terror. Had they not heard him? Or, even worse, were they going to back out? Did fear overwhelm this time?
Oscin’s trembling resumed, and everything around him appeared more hopeless. Soldiers on his left, his right, were all so fatigued, tromping into position like zombies on borrowed time. How would they protect him? Then there was Lito and Brower just standing there staring at the radio. Even they didn’t know what to do next. Horrifying.
If this was all that was left, it was the end.
Still nothing, just exchanged looks of dread between those waiting on the frontlines.
Then, static suddenly blew back through the radio, blowing life into Oscin like a bag refilling with air. When the noise finally cleared, all of the shouting came through at once. A faint chant growing louder: “Lito, Lito, Lito!”
“We’re coming, Brower! We’re coming to claim our freedom!”
Lesh looked beyond the Senation fortresses, past the rock path to see idle black jets streaked with red. The Aura’s fleet. To say that their smoky allies made her uneasy would be an understatement. Jason’s bizarre death didn’t make them any less strange, nor did it instill confidence in the one who took his place. But Sin lives were saved on their account, and Nemura was reduced to chains as a token of cooperation, so some form of appreciation was in order.
She stalked past Sin fighters and civilians on the outskirts of the structures, capturing eyes wherever she went. Dark blemishes beneath a hardened gaze reflected her fierce persona. Silky brown hair swayed as she strode through the crowds, and a knife ring strapped to her back kept her path clear.
No sign of the Southern idiot anywhere. Would he really be dumb enough to risk our alliance, while we’re sharing the same home?
She scoffed and made way to Nemura’s prison as a last resort. The closer she got, the clearer Nemura’s chaotic laugh became. He wasn’t alone. Upon boarding the Aura jet, Lesh heard sounds one would expect from a haunted house. Cackling echoed down the corridor, repeating to mimic infectious laughter. Then the twang of a blunt object striking flesh bounced around the walls like church bells. She walked through each compartment leading to the distorted voices, unfazed by the disturbances that lurked ahead. As soon as the drawl of a second voice resonated, she knew she’d found who she was looking for. The door slid open to admit her, revealing an ironic sight.
It was Nemura, bound by the arms to rusted shackles hanging from the jet’s concave walls, his flaccid, scabbed wrists hanging over, and a shiny bruised face lifted to expose an ear to ear smile.
“I can smell that bitch anywhere. Mmm, come here assassin, it’s your turn to spank me.” His wet crow ended with bloody spit upon the ground.
Morn stood a foot away from the crazed man, hunched from exasperation, face contorted in a snarl like he’d sniffed something nasty. His breath was heavy, huffing in and out, skin growing red like a blast furnace. It was obvious that he was hard at work… and when his fingers gripped tightly around the barrel of his magnum, he wound up and pistol whipped his captive for the umpteenth time.
“Think I’m holding a grudge for what you did to us? That’s only half of it, you piece of shit. I know you’re still runnin’ things on the inside of Clestice and Dowso. You get up with all sorts of rats in this world. Give ‘em up! Talk or I’ll carve that silver scalp off as a souvenir!”
Nemura’s eyes gleamed with excitement when Lesh rounded to meet him face to face. “I knew it! What a reunion! At least I have an audience now! C’mon, Morn, hit me again. I want to see Lesh get all hot and bothered.” He licked the bruise puffing up his cheek. “Lesh, tell me something, do I look anything like your father before your brother shot him?”
Morn slammed the butt of his gun across Nemura’s face so hard that a tooth flew from his mouth. “Traitor scum.”
“Just wait until the goddess hears word of this,” Nemura warned. “Not too smart, my redneck friend.”
Morn raised his pistol again, readying to swing.
“Aw, Lesh, it’s still his turn? I wanted you to smack me up,” Nemura griped with disappointment.
The Southerner brought his arm down to swing, but Lesh caught it.
“We have business to discuss.”
“Let me at him! Better yet sweetheart, don’t you want some revenge on this piece of shit?”
“He means nothing to me, Morn, and he’s where he should be. Let him rot.” She released his hand.
“You getting soft on me, assassin?” Nemura asked.
Lesh leaned in close, feeling his beaten face throb with heat beside hers. “If I hear that you’re hiding even an ounce of information that’s useful to me, I’ll lock the doors and untie you. Then we’ll see who’s soft.”
She dismissed herself while Morn spat at the jester’s feet before the door slid shut behind them.
“Rodest has identified a trade route into Old California that we may be able to use,” Lesh announced.
“I know all the routes in the outer cities of Senation. We’d get killed just thinkin’ about using them.”
“If I was suggesting one that you already know of, do you think I would waste my time looking for you?” She pulled out a device that projected a map and smacked the back of Morn’s head for him to take a look.
“It’s a hidden route from Jurace to Death Valley.” She traced the display.
“And how in hell do you reckon we carry this out? We got no crew or authority.”
“One of the builders is nearly done with our first cargo ship. Blague and I have already discussed the plan. We need to facilitate trade if we’re to sustain housing this many Sins… and we thought it’s time to put your skills to use. Hm?”
“Hm.”
“That’s what I thought. Death Valley is a Yuprain and Terra occupied territory. Fortunately, we have a contact in our ranks: Victor Doran. He’s a Terra born and raised, who volunteered us the authority we need. I’ve agreed to join you as protection for the first three trips.” She grinded her teeth as she said the words.
“Hah, don’t seem too happy ‘bout that last part, sweetheart. Don’t like boats?”
“Shut up. Don’t like being confined.”
“Well tell ya what. If your hide is on the line, that’s good enough for me. I’ll take the risk with ya’ll. What we tradin’?”
Lesh shoved the device into his chest. “You’re in charge of transport. All of the details are in there. Go finish giving Nemura what he wants and meet me oceanside at dawn.”
Darkness. Endless darkness. Thank goodness for this symphony. At least they had the common decency to provide the richness of composition.
At the very bottom of a cylindrical metal tube, at the center point of two seventy-foot chutes connecting to make a V-shaped cell, far beneath the reach of any human contact, or light, or even sound other than the echo of his own head banging against metal, lay Dendrid.
He had been cast down to the pit for what felt like an eternity. Every passing minute stretched time like an elastic band with no hope of ever reaching a limit. No possible way to escape – no ridges within the metal to climb, no way to punch through steel, no matter how many times he may have tried. The Hiezers went through great lengths to contain this single threat. The realization never came however, that this oversized hammock, this claustrophobic’s nightmare, was the only thing he was meant to call home.
Tick, tick, tick. The moment is coming. It’s been forty-seven hours and fifty-nine minutes. It’s almost time. Shhh, music, just for a moment. Shhh…
A flashlight shined down the tube, gifting Dendrid a dim source of light. His fingernails scratched against the slanted wall, and muscles clenched in anticipation. With a craned neck, he looked up to the hole as he had countless times before, hoping that his eyes wouldn’t fail him. Three minutes, every other day. That’s all the Hiezers permitted to prevent permanent vision damage, but there was always an instant of fear just before the light shined, that his sight was already gone.
One thousand and eighty-two days. How many more will they keep me down here before they unleash me to do their bidding once more? Come laymen, we can help each other. Let me do what I do best.
Black spots everywhere… more than usual. Was this it? Had he finally lost his vision? Then, as if the heavens were opening their pearly gates, came a light so blinding that he had to look away. Something good was coming his way. His body could begin to relax perhaps. He counted to ten, opened again, and could feel everything around him converging into one image, a single focus. Soon after came a familiar tug on the intravenous tube connected to the bag on his arm. He felt like an overgrown fetus linked to an umbilical cord, with nothing else to do but wait. Two tugs were his prescribed response. Normal protocol to ensure he was fed. He delicately turned himself around in the narrow space he was allotted in his womb of a cell, knowing full well that one wrong move would mean the end of his food supply, and his life.
Careful, they warned you. Your responsibility is to keep this needle connected.
You’re right, they did warn me.
“Hah, there I go again! There’s only one me, stop grasping you idiot. Just listen to the grace of orchestra and be thankful,” he said aloud to himself.
He stretched his muscles to avoid atrophy, and proceeded to do push-ups to prevent from growing weak. One hand held up the weight of his body, and then one finger. He alternated through all but the pinky, and then rotated back.
I must be ready. They only keep me alive because I’m of use to them. Patience. There will be a time when my life is my own again.
Once the fluids were done refilling, he noticed that the access point didn't close as it normally did when his feedings had ended.
It's time. I can feel it in my bones. Water and blood - I need my fix of both to survive. Release me!
Dendrid stared at the opening above, unable to make out what was happening at the other end of the chute.
"I know every minute of your schedule. If you didn't shut the door, then you know it's time, too. Get on with it. Release me!" he shouted.
His voice bounced through the cylinder like a pinball of sound, all the way up to his captors. He then pressed his ear to metal awaiting a response. Sound was strangely amplified through vibration, like he was underwater. But he stayed put to try and decipher anything he could… rustling like mice… people talking, now machinery clanking. When he looked up, an abnormally bright light made him instantly cower in pain and squeeze his eyes shut as tightly as he could.
Don't look directly into the sun, Dendrid. Don't you want to keep those eyes of yours?
A long, steel contraption slid down the tube, equipped with cushioned claws.
"Ha! That's how you lowered me in here. It's about time!"
The music suddenly stopped when the claw wrapped around his neck, like he was being plucked straight from the live orchestra he’d been audience to for years unending. Bittersweet. Now he held on tight for what was in store for him next. The strength of his arms kept him from being strangled, and although he didn’t know how to show it, excitement gripped him, sending his heart into a flurry of pounding pumps like a boxer was sparring from the inside of his chest. Bizarre like everything else about him. He watched his feet drag on the tunnel’s side while slowly being reeled up to the light. What was this strange feeling? Longing? Is he actually going to miss the black abyss he’d resided in for so long? Doubtful. He was a prize drawn from the most daunting of crane games. Now all that was left to do was close his eyes, hold on tight, and wait.
Eventually, his body slid horizontally onto a platform, tension finally easing. He could let go now without his neck snapping on the spot, but he did still have to roll over from twisting pressure, the claw forcing him to flip onto his stomach. Eyes cracked open in confusion only to be forced shut again by more blinding brightness. He was at a disadvantage in every respect, like some terrible science experiment, although he did manage to catch what he was looking for… a glimpse.
"The Ice Queen,” he said in his low, weathered voice. "You look like someone has taken something from you since we last met. Something valuable.” He tapped his closed eye. “I'm glad we have relatable common ground now. You see, you’ve stolen something very dear to me - my time."
Dendrid's beaten voice didn't match his lean physique. He curled forward, hunched in hospital attire while scratching at the stubble on his face; the dull razor left in his pit saw to an uneven five o’clock shadow. Dark blueish, nearly black hair fell down to his neck, framing his face and mostly obscuring his light brown, devious eyes.
Eldra rounded his back while gripping an elongated needle. She stared at him briefly before taking pleasure in jabbing the sharp point into the midpoint of his spine.
"You're marked now," she declared.
His body jerked from the impact, and his face winced with pain. "I've always been marked by you and your kind, ever since I did my family justice all those years ago."
"You mean slaughtering and burning them to hell?” Eldra countered. “Your idea of justice is what makes you, you, I suppose."
Dendrid clenched his jaw. "What's the occasion, my dear? Don't get me wrong, I love watching my shit and bath water go down the same hole, but I'm also oh, so curious about the reason you’ve brought me back into th
e light."
He finally re-opened his eyes and swung his head, counting the guards in the Ice Queen’s circle.
"I must thank you, though. The music was lovely. I never got tired of listening to it." Dendrid smiled blissfully.
Eldra side-eyed the guard who had been in charge of the maniac’s cell. The man peered back at her and shrugged, shaking his head.
A moment later, the grip on the metal clamp loosened, unleashing Dendrid back into the world. He cracked his neck and inhaled a long breath of fresh air. "At ease, Hiezers. If you shoot me now, your mission would fail a bit prematurely. Wouldn't you agree, Eldra?" Dendrid said cryptically.
He hopped off the table and purposely twitched to scare the nervous guards. They flinched in unison and backed away from the strange man. All but for Eldra.
"The fear I instill is exhilarating," he gloated.
One of the medical personnel moved forward to remove the intravenous tubing lodged in Dendrid’s arm. He promptly snatched his limb away from the doctor's grasp. "I've grown attached to this thing. It will stay with me to replenish my body."
The doctor threw his hands up and slowly backed away, exchanging a look with the surrounding Hiezers while the serial murderer twitched beside him.
Eldra motioned to the guard holding Dendrid's double, deeply curved blades, who then hesitantly leaned forward and dropped the weapons. Before they could hit the floor, Dendrid had already equipped himself with both, one of which found its place next to a Hiezer’s neck.
"A little too trusting, aren't we, Queen of Ice?"
"You're skilled, Dendrid, I'll give you that. And you're fast, dangerously fast. But you're also predictable," she replied, pushing her finger down on a small device resting in her palm.
Dendrid dropped his weapons and fell to his knees, an electric pulse overwhelming his body and seizing his muscles. He closed his eyes and let the pain flow through him.
It feels familiar not to be in control, but this pain is new. I feel alive for the first time in years.